Sunday, April 3, 2011

Sunday Poetry Post

Finding a Quiet Place to Read

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The Land of Story-Books
by Robert Louis Stevenson

At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.

There, in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.

I see the others far away
As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.

So when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.


  1. Hello to everybody, and wishing spring to all. We have it here! For now.

    Beth, that's just wrong, and I especially know that's true from having listened to all the other jingles. Your words really do make the song, imo. I'm so sorry they're being so astonishingly greedy. You're like the little boy behind the couch in Jim's poem today--hidden with your words. You probably feel like "crawling with your little gun"!

  2. Hi! Beautiful day here though a tad windy. Of course I have chores to do but I will still enjoy.

    Hope everyone has a wonderful Sunday!

  3. Thanks Nancy - you're right. I appreciate the support. I'm really hurt, and still haven't figured out how to approach it with them. You know my mouth - it's hard to think of a tactful way to tell them how I feel.

    I love the poem, Jim. And andi, BUTLER! Whodathunk it?? Great game - tomorrow's game will be interesting. Can you imagine if they beat UConn?? I mean WHEN.

    Anyway, happy Sunday, everyone - only 88 here today, it's a cold front. :)